LEGEND OF DRAGOON: MOON AND FATE
by Psi-liloquy
Summary: The truth has finally come out. Now Dart must confront the Black Monster he has sought all of his life, and Rose must face the truth of her own fears and secrets.
1. The Death Frontier

_**The Death Frontier**_

"Dart, can we _please _stop?"

They had been walking for days—how many exactly was a topic disputed amongst the group. The ashes of Vellweb had given way to a vast and endless desert. The constantly shifting sands and the ever-present howling winds made direction meaningless, and the sun and moon were scarcely seen through the gritty haze. These were not the Barrens; this was the Death Frontier, a poisonous waste where nothing would grow, even at the summons of a battalion of Nellos.

Yet still they pressed on, hastened by Dart Feld's silent and furious urgency. He had not spoken more than ten words since the nightmarish events at Vellweb, yet the rest of the Dragoons knew what he was thinking about—and who.

Shana.

His father.

The Black Monster who even now trudged near the rear of the procession.

If Dart hadn't spoken more than ten words, Rose spoke even less, guiding the group by pointing silently through the blizzard of sand. Kongol trudged in front, because he was the largest of the group and managed to carve out a trench through the sand for the others to walk through. Still, the rest of the group had had to fashion veils and scarves over their faces to be able to breathe, yet they were constantly hacking up grits of sand.

Meru choked out another lungful of sand. "Dart, _please_."

At the plaintive note in her voice, Dart turned his head but said nothing. His silence was answer enough.

Meru moaned and slumped against Haschel's side. Haschel looped an arm around her shoulders. "Dart, we need a rest."

Dart kept walking as though he hadn't heard.

Then Kongol, who had to constantly look over his shoulder for direction as well as to block the sandy spray, stopped in his tracks.

Dart looked up at the Giganto, his face chalked with ash and sandy stubble. Kongol's pale eyes fixed on Dart's gray-blue ones.

"We stop _now._"

Dart studied the rest of the group. They looked like colorless statues that had been left out to weather and ruin. He thought he must look the same to them. He could scarcely tell them apart (save for Kongol, who towered over them all), and that was bad. "How far to Ulara?" he croaked out.

All eyes turned to the woman at the back of the line.

Rose looked at them all, but her eyes fell short of Dart. "A day. Maybe two."

"Shana could be dead in two days!"

"Dart," Albert said gently, "Shana could already be dead."

Dart stayed where he stood, but they all saw his anguish was great. They barely heard Rose say, "No. She's not dead . . . not yet." Now her eyes met their leader, the son of the man she loved, the man they now pursued. "He won't let her die until . . ." Her voice cracked, faltered—and her gaze once more fell with them.

None of them had spoken aloud of the terrible events that had been set in motion at Vellweb. Dart's mad eyes flared up but he did not speak. The rest of the Dragoons stood between them, feeling the seething rage of one and the cold regret of the other. Dart's hand trembled over the pommel of his sword, and at any second he might seize it and—

"_Kongol!_"

It was Meru who had screamed. It snapped Dart from his tableau, and he whirled around to face Kongol . . . but there was no sign of the giant man. It was as though he'd vanished from the earth.

The rest of the Dragoons hurried over as Dart looked around frantically. He screamed the Giganto's name, but his cry was lost to the shrieking winds. He stepped forward, squinting ahead, trying to make out Kongol's hulk through the sand—and he fell.

His back crashed on a hard stone floor, his armor clattering deafeningly. He lay there for a long moment, eyes squeezed shut, the wind knocked out of him, as a torrent of sand spilled over his body.

He opened his eyes slowly, and saw the other Dragoons peering down from the lip of a pit, and understood. The sandy earth had given way, spilling down into a sparkling underground cave of limestone. He groaned, and managed to drag himself up to a sitting position.

He looked to his right. Kongol was sitting there dazedly, his war axe beside him. He rubbed his head and smiled sheepishly.

"We rest now?"

* * *

"Gods know I'm _never_ going to be able to get all this sand out of my hair," Miranda muttered as she ran her hands through her flaxen locks. Sand drifted down like dandruff into the air.

"Forget the hair," Haschel complained as he shifted uncomfortably on the stone floor. "I'm never gonna get it out of my—"

"We're not staying here long," Dart broke in. He was standing away from the rest of the group, his fingers playing over the blade of his sword, testing it for any damage sustained in the fall. His fingertips had already sustained minor scalding from the blade's unnatural heat—the result of slaying two dragons—but he did not seem to mind. "We need to get to Ulara as soon as possible."

"Relax, Dart," Meru piped up cheerfully in the face of Dart's withering look. "I'm sure the Winglies can help!"

Dart grunted and went back to perusing his weapon. Albert coughed and got to his feet. His attention had been snagged by the cavern they had unearthed.

"There's something odd about this cave," he remarked, looking around. "It looks too . . . perfect to be natural." His gloved hand brushed the hard stone walls.

"That's because it's not a cave."

All eyes turned to the one who had spoken. Rose was sitting crosslegged in a corner, her smoky gray-blue eyes turned away from the rest of them. It was the first time she'd spoken without being provoked first.

"What do you mean?" Miranda asked.

"It's not a cave," Rose repeated. Now her gaze lifted to the high-vaulted ceiling. "This was once part of a city."

Albert gaped at her. "A _city?_ In _this _godforsaken desert?"

"Back then, it wasn't a desert." Now Rose's eyes were sparkling with tears of nostalgia, and her voice quavered. "No—back then it was a great city. Back then, it was a paradise. It was _our _paradise.

"_This_ was Gloriano."

The rest of the Dragoons fell silent. They had all heard the name of the ancient kingdom of the humans before, in the lore passed down from Albert's historian in Bale and the wizened librarians in Deningrad. But that had been in passing. Here, before them, was a survivor of the holy empire, the last bastion of humanity against the Wingly oppressors.

"This was where we made our stand." She rose to her feet and walked on the flagged stone floor, her heels clacking in echoing footfalls. "We walked these halls often. These were the halls to the throne room. Diaz's throne room."

"Diaz," Dart murmured. It was another name they'd heard often—the name associated with the man who was manipulating everything that had occurred. The Serdian War, Shana's abduction from Seles, Lloyd's crimes . . . all could be laid at the feet of the man who called himself Diaz. The man whom they now knew was not Diaz but Dart's father.

"The leader of the free humans," Rose went on. "He was the first to recognize the implications of the Dragoons' power. Before Zieg slew the first dragon and became master of the Red-Eyed Dragoon, we had no real power to resist the Winglies. Diaz knew how to use us to our maximum advantage, as well as how to inspire courage and leadership amongst the rest of the humans. He taught us to throw off the chains of slavery and embrace freedom for all races." She hesitated. "He was a great man."

"What happened to him?" Albert asked. His voice had taken on a hushed tone of an enraptured student.

Rose turned away from them, gazing into the shadows, into corridors that had not been traveled in millennia. "Before we shot down Kadessa, they razed Gloriano to the ground. It was revenge, you see. We had taken down another of their floating cities and they took great offense. It wasn't because we destroyed the city—it was because we had the audacity to rebel in the first place. Diaz, the savior of the human race, died in the fires."

"And you attacked Kadessa," Miranda guessed. "As revenge for Diaz."

"It wasn't just Diaz," Rose said. "Gloriano was home to thousands—tens of thousands—of innocent people. Most of them weren't even warriors. They were farmers, midwives . . . children." Rose's voice echoed hollowly down the passages. "The Winglies didn't care. They scorched the entire city, and buried it in a poison desert where nothing will grow. We almost lost the entire human race."

"So you destroyed them," Dart said. His eyes left the edge of his sword and met Rose's own. For the first time in her memory, Rose cringed. "You and my father."

"Yes," Rose said.

"Then answer me this," Miranda said. "How can we trust the Winglies now?"

Rose's eyes flickered at the accusation but she stared Miranda down. "You saw the Winglies in the forests of Mille Seseau. Not all of them professed war, even then—especially not the mass genocide Melbu Frahma favored. Some were sympathetic to our plight . . . but they refused to take sides. Only Charle Frahma would take a stand in the matters, even against her own brother."

"So much for family loyalty," Miranda snorted.

Rose's eyes flared in searing anger—and for the tiniest of seconds, the old Rose was back. "If it hadn't been for Charle, the humans may very well have lost the war. Even with Diaz and the Dragoons, we could not defeat Melbu Frahma without her help."

Miranda turned away silently, biting back her own anger. However, Rose was more concerned with the murderous glare from Dart. He had gone back to inspecting his sword for nicks or cracks, but Rose was well aware that he might very well be thinking about taking her head off with it.

It was Albert who broke the silence. "Well, they're quite fascinating, these ruins," he said. "Perhaps we should take a moment and, er . . . poke around a little?" He sounded a little hopeful.

The Dragoons doubted Dart would go for it. He was so anxious to be on the road to Ulara that they were still surprised he hadn't abandoned them already. They were all shocked when Dart nodded.

"Fine," he said. His voice was barely above a whisper. "We'll be staying in here for the night. Just don't get lost."

His eyes never left his sword, but Rose still felt them burning into her soul—or what was left of it. And that was when she felt something else, another feeling she hadn't experienced in over eleven thousand years.

Fear.


	2. Fear and Vengeance

**_Fear and Vengeance_**

Nights in the Death Frontier were much like the days—the constant howling of the desert wind still kept the sky a strange faded no-color. Even the eerie silver orb of the Moon That Never Sets could scarcely be seen through the haze.

The Dragoons slept fitfully, bedding down on the scoured stone floor and occasionally hacking out sand that had somehow filtered into their throats. But Rose did not sleep—she rarely did since they had left Vellweb. She was always lost in her thoughts and her long, _long_ tapestry of memories, and that made sleep almost impossible.

But that wasn't all—and to be perfectly frank, it wasn't the real reason she couldn't sleep tonight.

In truth, Rose feared Dart.

Like her, he'd very rarely slept or eaten since they'd set foot in the Death Frontier. Most nights he would sit on a rock, sharpening his sword or his knives on a whetstone, staring up at the great pregnant Moon in the sky (when she was visible, of course). Rose was afraid that Dart would finally spring at her and take her head off with his sword. She wasn't afraid of death—in truth, at times she craved it—but still the fear was there.

And why_ shouldn't_ she expect it? All his life Dart had been seeking revenge against the black creature that had razed his childhood home to cinders, and now, after years of fruitless searching, he had finally caught up to the villain. He had spoken at length around campfires over the last year about what he would do to the Black Monster when he finally confronted it. Rose had, of course, found those conversations particularly uncomfortable.

But now the truth was known, and still Dart waited.

A hand fell on her shoulder like dead fate.

"Let's go," Dart whispered roughly.

* * *

They clambered out of the pit, and for a long moment they just stood there, slender Rose's black armor dusted gray, Dart's a dull maroon. The harsh arid wind had slackened a little, so they did not need to raise their voices above a dry whisper.

Dart stabbed a finger toward the horizon. "Walk."

Rose glanced over her shoulder and looked at the pit. She could still see the rest of the Dragoons, still sleeping at the bottom. Her stomach twisted in knots. They reminded her so much of her old friends, all of whom were now long dead.

Except for her. And Zieg.

When they woke up, would they ask Dart any questions? Or would they all know, intuitively, what had happened? Would her absence be noticed?

Would she even be missed?

She closed her eyes, and felt a fugitive tear spill down her cheek. In her mind, she said goodbye to them all—studious Albert, dainty Meru, stolid Haschel, gentle Kongol, even hot-tempered Miranda. She said goodbye to them like she had wished she'd done for her old friends. Then she turned away from the pit, knowing in the depths of her heart that she would never see them again.

_He _was still standing there, his desert-blond hair whipped and flogged by the wind, his jaw set in an all-too-familiar grim expression. It was how Zieg had looked on the day he slew Melbu Frahma. And those eyes, like chips of glittering flint, were fixed on her. And Rose could almost _feel_ the blade already between her ribs—in her heart.

"Dart," she said.

"_Walk_," Dart said again, pointing. His voice crackled harshly. His other hand dropped to the handle of his sword.

Rose's eyes went to the direction Dart was pointing. Another tear traced a clear track through the grime on her face. She nodded once, brushed the tears away, and started to walk toward her destiny.

* * *

They walked for a long time—it seemed like an eternity to Rose. Every step she took felt like the ticking of some long-running clock that was finally winding down. She would look back over her shoulder from time to time, but Dart was still close behind her, one hand still fingering the hilt of his sword. Neither one spoke. Soon the pit where the others slept had disappeared behind them.

They were all alone now.

The thought of begging, of pleading, never once crossed her mind. She knew that Dart would not listen to such mercies. Not from the woman who had murdered so many. The best she could hope for was that her death would be quick.

Then Rose saw it—it was as though the gods would allow her one final look at the last remnant of her sacrifice. The sandy haze had begun to dissipate, and now she could see it.

It was a cruel joke the gods had played on her. She had been alone for centuries, for _millennia_, forced to cut a swath of murder and misery that had caused her to be branded a monster by history and legend. And all that she had sacrificed would be for nothing now. Soon the Moon would reveal its final terrible secret, and she would not be around to stop it. The Moon Child lived, and now the world—all of it—would soon be dead.

She didn't even realize she'd spoken the last sentence aloud until Dart whispered, "So now you want to murder Shana, too?"

Rose turned away from the sky and looked at Dart. Dart was watching her with those damnable eyes.

"It's not what I _want_, Dart," she said, fighting back an old surge of fury. "Don't you understand? _It has nothing to do with what I want._ It's either Shana or the entire world. Would you sacrifice every man, woman and child for your love?"

"Gods damn you." A vein was throbbing in his neck as he stared her down. "You _chose_ to be a murderer in the first place. You've killed Soa knows how many people—and for what? Because you wanted to."

"I _never_ wanted this for myself!" She felt her own hand drop down to her rapier, the first time in weeks. "I never chose this life. The gods chose it for me. I wish I had died with my friends—but their sacrifice would have been for _nothing_ if I didn't become the Black Monster."

"Don't even try and justify yourself!" Now Dart's fingers closed around the haft of his weapon and slowly drew it out. "You've spilled blood—innocent blood! How does that make you any better than the gods?"

"_Don't you dare compare me to them!_" Now her rage burst forth in a geyser. "This was my destiny! Don't you understand? The gods said Shana would be the Moon Child. That was _her_ destiny! And my destiny is to kill the Moon Child."

Dart braced his sword in both hands, his eyes never leaving hers. "And me? Am I destined to kill you to save Shana?"

Rose felt the old rage become engulfed by the new regret as she unsheathed her rapier. "As long as I live, the Moon Child will die."

Dart grimaced—and for the briefest instant, Rose saw a flicker of regret in his own eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by the fury that had left Rose. "If it is the will of the gods, then so be it."

He charged forward in a bull's rush, swinging his sword in a hard overhead arc. Rose saw the blade coming and moved her rapier up to deflect the blow, while at the same time sidestepping it. Dart's stroke went wild but he managed to hew a devastating kick into Rose's thigh. She was bowled off her feet and landed heavily on the ground. She was up in a flash, though, just as Dart's blade plunged downward. She rolled to the side, and the blade buried itself halfway to the hilt in the sand right where her head had been.

Dart wrenched the sword free and whirled to face Rose. Rose came at him, thrusting forward, her stiletto-thin blade barely missing Dart's jugular. He parried the blow and spun rightward, his other hand bunched in a fist. It crashed heavily against Rose's temple. She saw stars but did not falter, and as Dart brought his sword up again she sprang forward like a leopard, thrusting low. The blade ripped through Dart's left thigh. Dart grunted with pain and knocked her back, and as Rose staggered away she saw blood pouring freely down Dart's leg.

Dart seemed not to notice, however, as he raised his sword and scythed it hard. Rose raised her rapier to parry the blow . . . and in doing so, fell for Dart's trap. He quickly and deftly thrust forward instead of swinging, and the blade sliced across Rose's cheek. She felt a hot stinging agony, and her eyes began to well.

She shook her head to clear it, and saw Dart was coming. She hurled herself back as Dart slashed with all his might; Dart's blade sundered the haft of her rapier. It flew in twain into the desert darkness; the weapon she had carried into battle for thousands of years was finally gone.

Dart stepped forward, left leg still dripping blood. Rose watched him come and felt a strange sense of awe overcome her. This moment had been foretold. Stacked atop all the other moments of her existence lay this one, the last thing before she died.

He took another step, almost floating along. It all seemed a dream to Rose. The sword came up in his hands.

"At last," she breathed, dawning blooming in her gray eyes. "End it now."

Dart let out a loud roar—an ancient battle cry from deep within his soul—and with all his strength hewed his sword down. At the last moment Rose closed her eyes, and waited for the killing blow.

* * *

She awoke to pain and the sound of footsteps. The pain informed her she was not in heaven.

She opened an eye and saw dull pale stone. She opened the other eye and saw more stone. A wall. She recognized it—the ancient corridor of Gloriano. Her head throbbed. Her last memory was of drawing her sword against—

_Her sword. _She moved slightly and felt for her rapier. It wasn't there. Her head throbbed ominously. Cautiously, she put a hand up to the side of her head. It had been laid open, and there was a heavy crust of drying blood there. She was alive. She felt a distinct sense of surprise at this discovery.

_Dart._ He had struck her down and left her for dead.

But how did she get back here?

She eased herself to a sitting position and felt blood rushing back to her legs with a tingle of pins and needles. Her head hurt horribly when she did.

She let out a hoarse croak as she cleared her throat. A shape moved in the dark.

"You're awake," said a familiar voice.

In the dim light she saw his face. Her mouth fell open in shock.

"You brought me back. Why?"

Dart shrugged and eased down beside her. His left thigh was swathed in bandages.

"It's done," he said.

Rose felt her throat harden. "Why? Was it pity?"

Dart shook his head. "No. It's because you're right. My father is going to destroy the world—he's going to destroy everything. It's not just about me or Neet or even Shana."

Rose's eyes widened. "What about your revenge?"

"I killed the Black Monster," Dart said. "Now there's just you. Rose. My friend."

He put a hand to her cheek. At his touch she felt a tingling warmth that had nothing to do with the cut furrowed there.

"I am sorry, Dart. For everything."

Dart smiled faintly. "All is forgiven."

He stood and walked back to where the other dragoons lay. Overcome by it all, Rose lay back on the sandy stone floor. She took several deep breaths, pushed herself up again, and staggered toward them. Not long ago, she had thought she'd never see them again. She wanted to join them but she found she could simply not move any more. The dizziness kept coming. She remembered Dart's words to her.

_All is forgiven_.

Then darkness fell across her eyes, and she knew no more.


	3. The Guardian

_**The Guardian**_

He sat alone with his thoughts.

They were his constant companion, and his constant torment.

He could have awakened Miranda, and she could have easily healed the slash on Dart's thigh with a poultice and a prayer. But that was not Dart's way. Master Tasman had often told him growing up that a true warrior bore his scars with pride.

Besides, the pain kept him alert and aware. It was a constant reminder that the price for the world was blood.

The words he had spoken to Rose had left an empty taste in his mouth, and he was left with a queer feeling of hollowness. Was this the price of revenge? A feeling of no purpose?

But was that right? He had a purpose, he knew that. But he'd been blind to it for years, his whole life. And yet, in these last few months, it had become clear to him, like crystal from Deningrad's palace. How had he been so ignorant?

_Shana._

His purpose now lay somewhere in the vastness of the world, imprisoned, under the watchful eye of the man who sought to destroy the world. His father, whom he'd once revered, whom he'd thought dead, held his love in the palm of his bloody hand, and at any second he would clench his fist and squeeze the life out of her . . .

"Dart?"

Dart hastily dragged a hand over his eyes and looked. Haschel was there, propped up on one elbow, his dark eyes glittering in the sandy darkness like an old scarab's.

"M'fine," Dart mumbled, offering Haschel a smile that couldn't fool a child. "What are you doing awake?"

"Aw, you know how it is, these old joints o' mine…" Haschel flexed his fingers, then pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Can't hardly sleep in these conditions. I guess I'm gettin' too old."

Dart grunted. Haschel leaned forward, his voice low enough to be effectively masked under Kongol's snores.

"Dart, about you an' Rose..."

"Haschel..." Dart was in no mood for one of Haschel's jibes.

"No, hear me out." Haschel's usual smile was gone, and he put a hand on Dart's shoulder. "We all heard what that man-your father-said at Vellweb. About Shana and Rose."

"What about it?"

"We just need to know you're going to hold it together." The old man's weathered face held a tinged look of anxiety. "These are dark times, Dart, and we don't need to be waiting for you to go mad."

"You don't need to worry about that, Haschel," Dart said.

"I know I don't. But I saw you and Rose leave earlier. I hope you left what you had between you two out there in the desert. Because if you didn't . . ."

"No half measures," Dart said firmly. "You told me that, remember?"

Haschel remembered. It had been in the snowy wastes of Kashua, before they had reached Flanvel Tower, before they had caught up with Lloyd.

"What's done is done."

"I'm going back to sleep," said Haschel. "I suggest you do the same."

Dart shook his head. "I don't think I can," he mumbled, but Haschel seemed not to hear.

He felt a shiver of apprehension. What lay ahead seemed dark and shapeless, filled with threatening thunder. An ominous cloud that hung across the horizon. A cloud filled with the wrath of a god long dormant, mightier than all the armies of the world.

Yet despite his own words, he _did_ sleep, after a few minutes lying on the hard ground of the sunken halls of Gloriano. He was too exhausted not to.

. . .

They breakfasted brutally early. They knew the winds would start to pick up, and though Rose said it was only a day's journey now, there was a sense of urgency now. They had all slept fitfully, plagued by dreams, and though they did not speak of them to each other, they would not have been surprised to know that all of them dreamed the same thing. A dark storm was on the way, and it promised a bloody rain.

They also saw but did not speak of something else. Dart was still moving with a brisk purpose, but his rancor seemed to have cooled overnight. He seemed not to be as annoyed with the rest of the group as he had been before, and once or twice he would even crack a weary grin at some of the quips Meru or Haschel bandied about to keep their spirits up. Yet he walked with a limp, and every now and then he would press his hand against his thigh. The blood flow had been staunched, but it still pulsed and quivered with every painful step.

That was not the only change in the group. Rose still brought up the rear, but she was no longer trailing far behind. She bore her own injuries-blood matted her left temple-but she seemed almost not to notice. Still, there was something oddly comforting about the look in her eyes. There was no longer the unsettling fear that seemed to shine in her eyes like a cornered beast. It was the old Rose, the Rose they had fought alongside these last several months, before the dark revelation of her bloody history had been unearthed. Still, there was something strange lingering there, and the rest of the group kept casting furtive glances back at her, trying to put their finger on it.

It turned out it was Meru. "Where's her sword?" she whispered.

That was true; her rapier, which was always sheathed at her side, was nowhere to be seen. That in itself was highly unusual-they all remembered when Rose refused to relinquish her blade, even for a banquet. But out here, in this endless desolation, it was quite alarming.

Then Rose stopped dead in her tracks. "Hold up," she shouted.

The group stumbled to a halt and looked at her in confusion. Rose was turned toward the west. Her ears were pricked up, and even through the sandy haze they could read the word in her expression: danger.

"Rose?" Meru whispered.

Rose said nothing. She only peered out into the desert. There was a sound growing out there, a familiar sound to her. She had known it would come-it always did. The last defense of Ulara.

"Rose?"

She turned eastward, where the quaking susurration seemed to emanate, and waited for the first glimpse of gray bulk to rise out of the sand. She had never feared the guardian set loose to roam in the poison wastes . . . but she had always been armed. Now she felt naked, exposed, and weak.

Now Kongol cocked his head. "Something coming," he rumbled. "Big."

"What is it?"

Then they felt it-a sudden jolt deep beneath their feet. The sand seemed to slip, like it was going to give way… but there was no underground cavern beneath them. No; this felt different, like the very earth was boiling over. Then Haschel and Meru shouted with alarm and pointed toward where Rose was looking. The sand seemed to heave-and a furrow erupted there, like some immense gopher was tunneling there. Only Rose knew what it was: the passage of one of the vast worms that inhabited the Death Frontier.

"Arm yourselves!" Dart bellowed as the sound grew louder. His voice was deep and grave, just as it had been when he'd condemned Lloyd for murdering Lavitz. The group took up sword and fist, hammer and lance, axe and bow. Only Rose stood weaponless, her eyes searing through the dusty air into the unstable dunes.

_Oh dear Soa-_

And then it exploded from the ground like a vast projectile: a huge sandworm, driven into a frenzy by the scent of these intruders. It reared itself from the depths in a titanic hissing of sand which obscured its flanks. Its gaping mouth looked like it could scoop up the Queen Fury in one gulp.

"Get back!" Dart roared, and then the worm lunged, its yawning maw filled with rock teeth.

There was a sudden burst of dizzying light, and then Dart sprang into the sky like a fiery red comet, his golden hair whipping about, his sword raised above his head. He hurtled toward the vast sandworm, slashing at the sand-crusted skin of its segments, exposing raw pink flesh beneath. The eyeless monster surged and writhed, hissing, blindly seeking new prey.

In a sinuous, whiplike movement, the worm struck Dart, knocking him out of the air. The worm plunged into the sand as Dart crashed. The dunes slumped, shifting beneath their feet as Meru and Miranda ran to Dart's aid. The other Dragoons held their stance as the vast beast surged toward them, its mouth stinking of all the toxic melange the Death Frontier had ever held. Then Rose stepped forward.

_"Rose!"_ Albert screamed.

Rose understood it all now. She had done her best to fulfill the destiny Soa had laid at her feet, and she knew in her heart that no one else, not even Zieg, could have done it any differently.

The worm kept rising, kept coming forward.

As if entranced, she stepped forward. The rest of the Dragoons screamed at her, but she didn't hear them. She understood now was her time to die. Her time, the world's time. Better to face it now. She would take her last ride into eternity, down this monster's fiery gullet. That would be-

_**Rose.**_

The voice was in her head, hitting with all the force of a psychic battering ram, and she rocked back as though struck. And she saw the great worm had frozen before her, its vast tonnage held fast by some sort of inertia she didn't understand.

**_It is not your time now. You know this, Rosie._**

Charle Frahma. Her voice was unmistakable. She tried to speak, but her voice wouldn't come.

_**We will speak soon. Now come to me.**_

And then the worm sank back into the arid abyss, and they all watched the ripples of its escape, slower now. And then the dunes once more drifted and rolled, as though they had never been disturbed.

. . .

Rose sank to her knees, and she heard faint calls from the others as they ran to her. She knelt there in the sands and waited until they had caught up with her. Albert and Haschel bent to help her up, but she shrugged them off and picked herself up.

_Dart._

She raced out to where Miranda and Meru were huddled in the dunes, and as she did, she saw the crumpled form before them. Dart's Dragoon armor had vanished, and he lay unconscious in his regular garb.

"Is he all right?" Her voice was cracked and choked with sand.

Miranda nodded. "He's breathing, but he came down pretty hard."

Meru called for Kongol, and the Giganto stepped in. He bent down and plucked Dart from the sand like a wounded kitten.

"We're nearly there," Rose said. "Let's go."

She started moving, but Haschel grabbed her by the arm.

"Wait a moment," he grunted. "What was that monster?"

Rose shrugged. "The welcome wagon."


End file.
